Bad Luck
by Nashi Hane
Summary: First in a triology - Hiro gets sick, what's wrong with him?
1. Some things just suck

Hiro's sick? How bad is it? Written in first person and partially third…I had contemplated making Eiri the one to receive my twisted tortures, what with his unhealthy habits and all, but figured that since I had tortured him a lot and I took the little Gravitation personality thing and turned out to be most like Hiro, followed by Ryuichi (get that) that I would torture Hiro cause I really haven't done that yet….Enough blabbering.

Two and a half million sales…three. It started around then, they figure, during one of our tours. Surprising how such a small thing can eat a person from the inside out, killing them slowly but surely…Hi, I'm Nakano Hiroshi, guitarist for the immensely popular group BAD LUCK. Shuichi's the main draw, and no, I'm not harping about him or our friendship or anything like that…it's just, I need to talk to someone, and he's busy planning for our next big move with K and Touma. Fujisaki's plunking notes on his keyboard and I don't think I could ever seriously turn to Sakuma-san for this. Which is why I got you…a stupid diary with little hello kitty's all over it…This is so not my style…but I guess you want the whole story, ne? Here goes…

I had been feeling a bit lethargic recently, but then, so had everyone. Touring was not easy business. Sluggish as I was though, I never botched a performance. I hadn't really been hungry, and if it wasn't for K I most likely wouldn't have eaten anything at all. I just wasn't hungry. When we finished I went home and collapsed, sleeping for two days straight.

Don't do that if you can possibly avoid it. It kills the back. 

I had been hoping that the extended nap would take some of my almost flu-ish symptoms away, but no such luck. Some things just suck like that. I woke up still feeling slow and uncoordinated, and had developed a headache. Stupid me that I was, I didn't see a doctor. I had begun to visibly lose weight by the time we got together again a week afterwards, and K started in on me eating properly again. He may be insane, but he does watch out for us, I have to give him that. He ran through a list of questions he could have gotten from the back of one of those anorexia/bulimia pamphlets that the public health board posted occasionally, but none of the symptoms really matched me, so he gave up that avenue of investigation and ordered us all to go for supper together, just to make sure I ate something.

Stupid way to die, really, in a restaurant in front of god knows how many people. Another of those things that just plain suck ass. After practise we all loaded into one of the company vehicles, Shuichi sprawling across myself, Fujisaki and Sakano while K got behind the wheel as there weren't enough seatbelts. Not that I'm complaining…but K's driving…you need a seatbelt. We clung to him for dear life…his, not ours…as the car narrowly avoided hitting a semi, a minivan, two cars, a fire hydrant, and a lamp post or eight…

Don't start. I've given up on gaining Shuichi as anything more than a friend long ago. That doesn't change the fact that he _is_ my best friend and I would do anything he asked in a heartbeat, and, that in my own way, I do love him. I'm his best friend, and he's mine, even if he doesn't feel more than that towards me, I have learned that there are different levels of all consuming love, different types. I've also learned that they are all love, and never completely separate from each other. I do love Shuichi. Nothing will change that, ever. I know I was mistaken now, but then, then I was acting on my emotions, something I usually leave up to him. I'm the thinker, he's the doer. Yin and yang. Perfect set, part of one another…but he doesn't complete my circle. I guess I've stayed with him this long, and it's kinda become a habit…like those people that jump of cliffs with nothing more than rubber around their ankles, Shuichi is an adrenaline surge I cannot go without, but…I do have other entertainments, which, unfortunately, are _so_ not legal at the moment. I'm no pedophile, and I don't want to mess this up at all, so I'll wait the few more years it takes. It's not really that big an age difference, when we're eighty it won't matter. I'm patient…I have to be, to put up with the insanity that is my life.

So, back to bitching, we went to this restaurant. Not too fancy, but far from fast food. I really wasn't feeling well, and the smells from the kitchen nauseated instead of aroused my appetite. Not so for the rest of the troop, they could hardly wait to order. I looked at the menu, wincing, and eventually picked a half size garden salad sans dressing and a glass of water. I really was not up to this. I felt as though I would fall asleep at the table… which had been my state for the past month or so, so no one, not even myself, took real notice. My headache had returned full force and I drank the water as soon as it got to the table… I had been really thirsty recently too, but chalked it up to part of my having no appetite. Thirsty, not hungry, though drinking so much had it's natural results and I had to flush a little more often. 

The water was good, fresh and ice cold, and tamed my headache for a moment. Only a moment though. I went to the washroom moments later with the un-disguisable urge to vomit…only water, dammit! I rinsed my mouth even though water is flavourless and left the washroom. I didn't feel any better on returning to the table under the concerned glances of all present. I glared as long as I could without this persistent headache hurting too much, a very effective three seconds it was too. Out of courtesy for the rest present, K took me aside, back to the washroom, and made me drink more water. I managed to keep it down.

"Can I go now?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. God my head hurt.

"You have to eat everything you get, and I'll shut up, alright?" No one is dumb enough to completely ignore a tall, muscular gajin* waving a gun around in a public washroom, so K was not pleased when I just went back to the table anyways. The first of the meals had arrived, and mine came soon as well. I picked half heartedly, resisting the urge to puke with every mouthful, but dutifully ate the whole freaking salad. 

I have never done anything that hard in my life! I was definitely not used to having something in my stomach and probably looked very, very bad if the looks my band mates were giving me were any indication.

"I'm taking you to a doctor tomorrow." K said calmly from across the table, everyone knew the comment was directed towards me. I didn't have the energy to put up any resistance, so I just nodded, wishing I was back home in my bed. God, this sucked. Suddenly, my entire stomach felt like it was going to explode. I'm sure I turned as green as the stuff that came flying out of my mouth not seconds after I pushed open the nearest stall door. This was too much! It fucking hurt! K was right behind me, holding my hair out of the way, but I didn't care. My vision blanked briefly and it was our manager that kept me from drowning in the porcelain bowl of yuck. I was beginning to like him there as he rubbed my back in small circles and held me as the heaving started again.

Shuichi came in just as what I hoped were the last of the bile and stomach acids came flying out. This was much more than a mere case of food poisoning, as I found out when dry heaves eventually brought up blood. It really didn't hurt too much anymore though…

"Sakano's calling an ambulance." Shuichi joined K in soothing my aching muscles and offering what comfort he could, even though his nose wrinkled at the stench surrounding us all. I did find his voice soothing, but I didn't have the strength to lift my head away from the seat, so I just lay on that cool surface until the wail of a siren broke my catatonia. K had gone to the door, leaving me to be supported by the best friends a guy could ever have…when had Suguru gotten there? I shook my head to clear my vision and try and banish the almighty headache from hell…and immediately regretted it as my body tried to throw up my intestines. It almost worked, more blood and some chunks came just as the paramedics arrived, pushing the other two members of BAD LUCK away to get to me. Guess there isn't much room in public washroom stalls. Who would have thought it? 

I remember a bit about being lifted and placed on the stretcher, the cool hands of the paramedics heaven to my abused skin and the tube they put down my throat hurting like a bitch. My last conscious thought was that this really, really must be bad for the restaurant's business, having a member of the up and coming / already there BAD LUCK fall ill in their washroom and having to be carted off. I've said it before and I'll say it again…some things just suck.

* an uncomplimentary way to refer to someone of European background, usually American.

If anyone can guess what's wrong with Hiro, then you get a lemon, your choice of pairing… and my regard. Even though it's becoming more prevalent in North American culture, not too many people know the symptoms…and I have it, so I would know what they are. The physical manifestation is pretty much exactly as Hiro is describing it, though a bit more unpleasant in the legarthy and headache departments…

--


	2. I should have...

The offer still stands…I have to say though, that it usually doesn't get this far before someone figures out what is wrong, and Hiro's at the nastiest end of the symptoms… personal experience is the source of knowledge on this one, so trust me, I know…I won't be mean and make him go through a spinal tap for diagnoses though…it's not needed. Hint…nah. I may add something to make it a little easier if no one gets it by 8 reviews though.

It scared the shit out of me when Hiro…got sick. I knew that tours were stressful, knew that they were particularly hard on him, so when he started to look a little green around the gills I thought of calling it short and letting him rest. Only thought of it, though. Sometimes, I forget that he really looks out for Shuichi without a thought towards himself. He truly is the best type of person to have as a close friend, and I hope he considered me one of his. I know the age difference is something he has trouble with, and I understand that, but if he needs a shoulder to lean on sometimes I want him to know I'm here. I don't want to sit idly by and watch him kill himself.

Which is exactly what I did. My heart almost stopped beating the first time he threw up after a meal, but after that first time he almost never ate with us and when he did it wasn't much. He had lost much of his colour, something that only those close to him would notice, was tired most of the time, and loosing weight. I recognized those symptoms and cornered him after a rehearsal.

"Hiroshi-kun, are you having troubles with your self image?" He looked at me, perplexed. Bingo, I thought…

"What are you talking about?" He finally managed.

"You've lost too much weight and I never see you eat anything. You look fine, Hiroshi-kun, people like you. In fact, according to the latest poles, you have almost as large a fan following as Shuichi."

"What?"

"It's true." And it was…Hiro needed to have more self confidence. I pulled my hand back from where it impacted the wall to let him move. His hair was soft as silk…

"Can I go now? I'm tired."

"You wouldn't be as tired if you gave your body some fuel. Hiroshi-kun…."

"What is it?!" He looked upset, weak, and…just sick.

"Hiroshi, are you anorexic?" I asked flat out. He blinked, then laughed, stopping before too long since it exhausted him, even I could tell that.

"No, I'm not. I'm just not very hungry nowadays. Can I go now?"

I let him. I shouldn't have. I should have dragged him to a doctor. I should have seen what was really going on. I'm an adult, I'm his manager. I should have seen it coming. I should have found a way to stop it…

The next time I found him completely alone was in the restaurant after he vanished to the washroom. We needed to talk, and I pushed him back. He leaned against the wall as I poured him a glass of water from the tank provided and handed it to him.

"Drink it." I ordered, letting the butt of my gun show from inside my jacket. He did, then asked the same question that he had last spoken to me when we were alone.

"Can I go now?" He was exhausted, and I know for a fact he's been sleeping most of the time since we got back. Maybe it was narcolepsy…but maybe not…I still couldn't rule out some sort of eating disorder, the brief contact I had with him telling me that he had kept losing weight.

"You have to eat everything you get, and I'll shut up, alright?" Hiro's head bobbed. This was really starting to make me nervous. It was like the Hiro I knew had been replaced by some pale, skinny doll. I don't know when I had pulled my gun, but I did notice that he didn't pay any attention as he made his way back to the table.

Well shit.

I followed, stashing any evidence of a firearm away from prying eyes, and found our meals waiting for us. I looked at my steak and Hiroshi's salad and thought about forcing some of the meat down his throat even as I took my place and began to eat. He barely picked at it, and that settled it.

"I'm taking you to the doctor tomorrow." Hiroshi nodded, and I relaxed a little. The doctors could figure out what was wrong.

Every bit of tension returned when Hiroshi suddenly turned as white as I have ever seen anyone go, and that's an accomplishment for someone of Oriental ancestry to do to someone who's grown up around Caucasians. He bolted for the washroom again, and I wasn't but a step behind, not even needed to bash against the door as it swung open.

God, this was worse than I thought. His muscles visibly strained as he heaved, I could see the cords of his neck stand out as I held his hair back. I understood what it was like, to have chunks in your hair, and how hard it was to get out. My first day with Michael* taught me that playing airplane right after a kid ate was so not a good idea…

All thoughts of my son flew from my mind as I yanked on the hair in my hands to keep Hiroshi from falling into the bowl of whatever it was he had just gotten out of his system. Footsteps made me turn my head.

"Sakano's calling an ambulance." I saw Shuichi wince even as I hear Hiroshi start again. What was he trying to do? There was nothing there to throw up in the first place…

"K-san?" God, did Shuichi look scared. I gestured for him to come over. Even if he was scared, he wasn't hysterical, yet, and that meant he could watch his best friend while I handled things outside. A crowd was gathering.

"Hold him. Make sure he doesn't drown." I moved to let Suguru, who was looking as scared as Shuichi but handling it a bit better, hold up the side I had been on. I was drawing even as I made for the door.

"Okay! Shows over! Go back to your seats!" My shouting was emphasised by three consecutive shots to the ceiling, and it worked for once. The crowd backed off just in time for the paramedics to rush in. I paid little attention to Sakano, who was in a gibbering heap on the floor by now, and followed them in, catching Shuichi as he tripped over his on feet in order to give the medics more space to work. I let my gun clatter to the floor as not one, but two very scared young men hung on to me and each other as their friend was moved.

Hiroshi was so still as they loaded him onto the stretcher, and I saw blood on the toilet as they pulled out, siren's blaring. Even after the sound faded into the distance I stood there, holding as tightly to Shuichi and Suguru as they were too me.

It wasn't until later that I realized I had been crying.

* yes, K does have a son, and a wife. Michael and Judy…Judy seems to share the same interest in weapons as he eccentric husband, and even gave him one as a present…scary ne? Out of their little family, Michael is the only one that really seems normal, but you don't see that much of him so it's hard to tell… for those who don't know - airplane is when you lift the kid over your head and twirl around. Yes, they do puke, and yes, it is experience talking here…shudders… it _is_ hard to get kiddy chunks out of long hair, especially in a braid… shudders… 


	3. Was I really that sick?

The long awaited diagnosis…I have to say I'm a bit surprised no one got it, but that's okay, seeing as half the people that _have_ it don't know it. Ah well, I'll just have to write my own lemon sometime… don't worry I will post it… heck, I might even be able to work it into this fic, now that I've gotten a hold of some of the remixes (particularly remix 7). Inspiration…it might work! What are you still reading this for? Read the fic!!!

I woke up with the scent of antiseptic assaulting my nostrils, and, surprisingly, if you considered the past few days…weeks…events, did not have any urge to toss my cookies. It was nice…my headache was gone too. I sighed and shifted to get more comfortable in what I knew to be a hospital bed, feeling my hand move funny. I brought it up for inspection, not an effortless action in the least, apparently my legarthy had not worn off yet, and found it to be bandaged with an intravenous needle attached. It was gross. I don't have a big fear of needles, but I definitely don't like them, besides, it was already inside my hands and I really did not feel up to removing it. My movement must have set off an alarm of some sort, as a nurse came in moments later, pushing the curtains aside to let me see out.

Shit. Intensive care…was I really that sick? He smiled at me and started talking.

"Hi there. My name's Shirosuke and I'm your nurse for the next five hours. How are you feeling?"

"Better." I croak. God, my voice sounds awful.

"That's good to hear, Mr. Nakano. Do you remember how you got here?"

"No…"

"Do you remember the events prior to the ambulance picking you up?"

"Yes."

"How did you feel then?"

"Sick. Tired. Not hungry, but really thirsty. Very tired, lethargic."

"Nausea?"

"Yeah."

"Frequent urination?"

"…yeah." I really didn't like these types of questions.

"Headache?"

"The mother of all…" The nurse scribbled something on his clipboard and smiled again.

"The doctor will be with you shortly. Is there anyone you would like to contact?"

"My family…NG studios…"

"I'll bring a cell."

"Thanks." He left me to stare at the yellow curtains and listen to the steady beep of my heart and lungs. I wondered briefly what was in the bag of drugs slowly seeping into my veins, but found I was too tired to really think much at all.

The doctor shaking me woke me up, and I was surprised to see Shuichi and K there. Both of them had scrubs and masks on, and from the way Shuichi's was soaked on either side I really, really wanted a mirror. How bad was this?

"Mr. Nakano, I believe we have reached a conclusion as to your condition. Do you want these gentlemen to stay to hear?" I nodded and locked eyes with Shuichi's, which were red rimmed.

"Very well. I'm afraid that you have developed Type I diabetes. You are at the upper age limit for onset of this type to occur, and I am required to ask if there is any family history of the disease, have Native American ancestry, were overweight for an extended period of time, or drank heavily?" I shook my head in response to all of the questions, not really understanding. What was this Type I diabetes? I asked. The doctor smiled that cheesy smile that was so fake before responding.

"You pancreas has stopped producing the hormone insulin. Symptoms of this are legarthy, excessive thirst and urination, headaches, sore joints and loss of appetite. If gone untreated it can cause heart, liver, kidney, or bowl failure, send you into shock, a coma, cause you to lose your sight or extremities, and even death. Fortunately, there are treatments. We have you on a steady pump right now, but once you are feeling better able to move on your own a nurse will come to teach you how to give yourself injections. These injections are to be a daily thing for the rest of your life if no cure can be found, and will number anywhere from two to five per day. You will also need to monitor your blood glucose levels and maintain them between 4.0 and 8.0 mmol/L. A monitor will be given to you and a nurse will instruct you on the use of it. When you came in your blood glucose level was 42.4, which is only about 3 points from total neural failure. You have been unconscious ever since." I blinked, numb at the shear amount of information. I had to take needles now? Every day? I could only formulate one question.

"How long have I been here?"

"You've been in diabetic coma for eight days. Some side effects may occur, but we believe we caught you in time to prevent any serious damage. This will change your entire life, Mr. Nakano. A dietician will be in within the next two days to discuss your meal plan. It is essential at the moment that you put on at least four kilograms before we can release you. Do you have any other questions?" None that I could think of, my brain was on complete overload, and yet surprisingly blank…I shook my head.

"Call the nurse if you think of any or require assistance. Good day." He left, and Shuichi instantly glomped onto me, K took my hand.

"We'll get through this Hiro…" I did the best I could to stroke Shuichi's hair…it always calmed him down, but could only manage to get my hand to his head. I could feel his tears soaking the blanket next to my hand and his shoulders shaking. Taking the cue from me, K ruffled his hair and let him cry for a while before gently ushering him out. He returned moments later.

"You…can cry too, Hiro. I won't mind." He said, absolutely serious. I smiled at him.

"I would prefer to be alone." He nodded at the whispered comment.

"Call. For anything." K left, and the full impact of all this came crashing down.

I wept.

Now you all know the big dark dirty secret!!!! Yay!!! Follow up will happen, find out what it's like in the daily life of a diabetic… sounds exciting (not) ne?


	4. Stupid me

Moving on…how does Hiro get on with his life now that he has serious medical concerns and, more importantly…what happens on the other end of the scale? Read and find out. Thank you to all who have responded, and remember - more responses = faster updates. On to the torture…

I was in the hospital for almost three weeks before they let me go, the last of those I spent building enough muscle to be able to walk on my own again. Shuichi had thought to bring me my guitar once I was out of Intensive Care and it had been one source of consolation. I would always have music. Surprisingly, more people than I thought would showed up, and I'm sorry to say that I really wasn't up to visitors and snapped at more than a fair share of those who did come. K and Sakano came every second day, Shuichi daily with Fuj…Suguru. Even Shuichi's, partner, showed up on occasion. Sakuma-san and Seguchi-san came every Thursday. Ayaka didn't show up once, but Eiri's brother…oh…Tatsu - something or other did. My mom and dad came once before leaving me in my own capable hands… I was glad they trusted me so much, but I did not want to do this by myself. I needed someone there, anyone really. I have to say that it came in a form I should have been expecting, but was still utterly surprised.

Shuichi, with some help from Ryuichi and Suguru and even Yuuuukiiiii as Shuichi so often calls him, wrote a song.

For me.

They had kept it a secret until K came in with a big ass smile (one of the scary ones) on his face and an even bigger gun strapped to his shoulder, pointing a microphone at people instead and telling them to listen up, cause this wasn't coming out on any album ever.

It should have. It was beautiful. It made me cry, but I was so happy that I really didn't care whether or not I looked like an idiot. They lugged a keyboard and set it up right in my room, somehow making space, and brought a second guitar for K to play since they needed the part and I really was in no condition to even try and read music cold. Bet you didn't know K could play, did you? He's not as good as I am, not by a long shot, but he could carry a tune, and that was all that mattered. Even now, with the music in front of me, I still remember exactly how Shuichi's voice sounded, blended with Suguru's - yeah, he can sing - as they sang the chorus, specifically the last line of it.

'_Daisuki na tomodachi. (I love you my friend)'_

It was that song that really brought me out of my funk and got me back on my feet, willing to get up and do something about this. Having the support of those close to you makes all the difference. Within a month of my release I was up and running and the next concert was looming big on the horizon. I should have known something would happen, but, being optimistic and overconfident, I didn't see it coming.

I had semi-gotten into a routine with my injections, only two a day and they really didn't hurt as much as I thought they would when the whole process had been explained, and my eating habits had definitely taken a turn for the better. How could they not, with K breathing down my neck to make sure that I was eating enough of the right foods at the right time of day. I hadn't given up my smokes, I only feel the urge when I'm stressed, and that's been happening a lot less too. Shuichi was fascinated by some of the mechanical toys, but Suguru just couldn't stomach it. K helped too, taking up my needles and giving them to me when I couldn't reach or was having trouble rotating where it was that I used them. One of the things that had been over emphasised was that the needles had to be given in a variety of locations or build up, resistance and a whole load of nasty shit could happen. I completely forgot about the performance until the evening of it basically. Well, not forgot, just didn't realize that tonight was _tonight_. 

I also forgot to eat, but took my needle anyways.

Stupid me.

I felt woozy before going on, but chalked it up to performance anxiety. Yes, I know I'm supposed to be a professional, but no matter how many times you do something you can always expect that little rush of adrenaline beforehand. Ryuichi's been singing far longer and he still freaks out sometimes. We had actually gotten a coherent performance schedule and costuming to top it all off. Shuichi had white shorts and tank topped with a silver jacket, Suguru had baggy silver pants and a white trench, and I had tight white pants and a silver jacket. Wow, coordination, who'd have thought?

By the time we got to the third song, I knew something was off.

Thought it was nervousness after having been away so long.

Intermission I felt weak and was having trouble seeing, broke into a sweat, and was shaking a bit.

Worst case of stage fright ever.

Stupid me.

I went back on after requesting a chair be placed that I could sit on to play, standing for another half hour really didn't seem possible.

I fudged a chord on our next piece.

A whole measure on the third song after intermission. My heart was racing, and the shakes had turned into all out spasms. I couldn't really focus on anything. All I know was that Shuichi and Suguru skipped four selections and moved to the last one where all I had to do was strum three cords over and over.

I couldn't manage. They blanked my section of the stage and I was pulled off, spasming so hard that I couldn't walk on my own and was barely conscious. I smelt K…he always has this faint gunpowder scent to him, and felt something touch my lips.

"C'mon Hiro, you gotta get something in you. Swallow the juice Hiro." The lulling voice was compelling, and I tried to comply, but a particularly nasty jerking hit me and I hit the floor hard. What was going on here?

"Hiro. Hiro stay with us. Swallow. You can do it." The sensation of something on my lips was back and I managed three gulps of something that was nauseatingly sweet before I had to stop and gasp.

"Good. Good Hiro. A little more." Whoever was holding me up murmured and the straw, I had identified the object, returned to my lips. I swallowed again, and was starting to feel a bit better, though very, very weak. I was tired too. Sighing I closed my eyes, and was snapped back to consciousness by a hard but controlled shake.

"Stay awake. You have to eat a little more…" I opened my eyes to stare at blond hair that moved ever so slightly in a completely fascinating way. I don't know how long I stared at it, but felt the straw come back and drank, the spasms fading to nothingness. I recognized K's voice, strange how that happened really. I trusted the man with my life.

"Hiro, Hiroshi. Eat, okay?" Our manager held something solid that required chewing to my lips, and I obediently did as asked. I wasn't in any condition to think for myself, and the suggestion sounded really good. It tasted aweful, and I cringed as another bit was put to my mouth after I swallowed the first.

"You can do it. C'mon. Open up. It's a cracker." That didn't sound too bad, and I let the American continue to feed me even as other voices made themselves known to me. 

"How's he holding up?" That was Touma…when did he get here? He wasn't supposed to come to this concert…

"Oh my god!!!! What will…aaaaauuughggggh!" I had to smile. Sakano freaked out so often it was routine proceedure by now.

"He's better. Needs some proteins." K…warm, soothing…I liked his voice…

"Will this do?" Touma again, I saw him move out of the corner of my eye not surrounded by darker blond hair.

"Perfect. Open up Hiro…" I hadn't fought K yet tonight, I didn't now, and something I immediately identified as sharp cheddar cheese, well aged was placed in my mouth. I was surprised that I got such a big piece, the stuff's expensive as all hell. I let the flavour of it assault my senses. There was no way I would let this go to waste.

"Chew it Hiro…there's more as soon as you're ready?"

"More?" My voice was so muffled, blurry almost, around the cheese.

"That's right." 

"Hmm." K continued to hand feed me until the lights that I hadn't realized were stabbing into my brain were shut off and Shuichi, or rather, a blob of pink, appeared in my vision.

"Is he alright?" Why was he being so quiet?

"Aa. He'll be okay, just need some sleep." That sounded good. Letting the last of the cheese dissolve in my mouth, I left the floor of the section backstage and drifted into the land of nod.

Next chapter - big move, and more semi-angst… but don't worry, humour on the way.


	5. Is that too much to ask?

The voices are taking to Hiro…predicting a change in lifestyle and living quarters. He handles it rather well, considering. One more upheaval in his life… and a hint of really sick sense of humour, but just a hint… more next chapter (sick humour, that is)

Advice of the day - Listen to your Rice Krispies, they know what they're talking about…

"He'll be moving in with me. He needs someone else there that can handle this until he gets under control."

"I thought it was under control."

"So did I." The voices made my headache hurt more and I groaned. Immediately the voices stopped and I felt myself lifted from the soft thing I was lying on and held sitting up. A sharp pin to my left hand told me that whoever was holding me was testing my blood sugar.

"It's normal." I manage to place the voice as Touma, but he's too far away to be holding me. I shift and sniff. K. Good.

Waitaminute. Wait just one minute here! Moving in? What?!

"Ngh." Oh, nice vocalization there Hiro, I grumble at myself, but my mouth doesn't seem to be working too well right now.

"Hiro-kun, you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. Where…?"

"Limo. We're going to pick up your things."

"Huh?"

"You need to be more careful! You had a reaction, Hiro. Low blood sugar."

"So that's what it feels like." Yay, first cohesive sentence! Go me!

"Wh…what!" I open my eyes and have to grin. I, Nakano Hiroshi, have with one sentence, caused as much damage as one of Shuichi's crying fits. Sakano is passed out on the floor, Shuichi is bug eyed and gaping, Suguru, on the seat across next to his cousin, both staring at me like I just said I was the next messiah, and K…above me, is speechless and stunned.

Only for a second though. I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun seconds later with steam literally rising from that mess of blond hair. I smirk.

"What do you mean by that, Nakano-san?" K growls, his eyes blazing.

"Calm down! Eep." I let out a breathless gasp and find myself pinned to the seat, an enraged manager replacing his gun with his face as the closest thing to my own. He looks royally pissed… the thing is, I don't understand why. Massive sweat drop time. He grinds his teeth, then pulls away as fast as he got close and buckles us both up.

"We are going to your apartment and you are packing what you need for the night. Tomorrow we'll clear the rest out. You're moving in with me." He says, very, precisely. I can almost see his head blowing up like a balloon and exploding right then, but, with what I think it a great show of restraint, keep from laughing out loud at the image.

"I'm fine by myself." I tell him, a bit upset that he thinks I can't live on my own.

"No. No you are not." He deadpans. "You're moving, that's final."

"No I'm not." My temper's beginning to flare, spurred a bit by the headache I have and the fact that my vision's still whacked out.

"Yes you are. Got it?" The last part's in English, but I catch the drift from the way his eyes blaze and the completely deadly serious expression on his face.

Maybe a week or two won't hurt. I catch the thought even as I catch myself nodding.

A week, alone, with K. K, our manager, who has the equivalent of a military storage unit of firearms, explosives, and god knows what else immediately at his disposal, and already pissed at me for some reason.

Kami-sama! What have I just agreed to? A week won't hurt…

It's gonna kill me.

--

Surprisingly, when alone, K is sane.

Relatively that is.

Oh, fine.

He's still nuts, but not as explosively so.

Must be all that time spent with Sakuma-san in the States…

Here's another secret he really doesn't want you to know. His real name is Crawd. I read it on the mail he got, and he turned all chibi and pouted when I called him that, saying to please call him K, especially at work.

With a name like that I can't blame him. It still cracks me up just thinking about it.

Suppose you wanna know what life is like for the big blond maniac, ne? All I'm going to say is that its definitely interesting. He had hauled my stuff up the seven flights of stairs since his apartment has no elevator before realizing that he needed his hands to get his keys in order to open the door. And the funny thing is, he started back down the stairs so he would have room to put my stuff down and take out his keys without even thinking about it.

Seven flights. Piled down with a shit load of not very light stuff. Twice. In under twenty minutes.

He's insane.

But we've already established this.

I grabbed him and he spun about, flopping around like a big rag doll despite having more than his body weight currently resting in his arms and grinning.

"Yo! S'up muh mahn!" He said. I blinked.

He never translated that one for me, and no matter how many language dictionaries I looked in I could not find any of those words.

"Where are the keys?"

"Right pocket." He jostled the things, trying to point it out. It didn't work, but I'm smart and figured it out pretty fast.

"Hold still." I told him and reached. Sure enough, the keys were right near the top. I yanked them out fast, realizing just why he wasn't perturbed by the thought of doing fourteen flights weighted down.

His thighs are solid.

The thought made me blush, and I fought it with everything I had to no avail, unlocking the door in the process.

"It's open." I mumbled, and he moved in, dumping my crap on the floor of the living room.

"Excellent!" I knew that word, but before I could comment my stomach growled and K's eyebrows shot through the roof.

"Hungry?" He smirked/leered/grinned. I have no idea how he can put so much information in his expressions and yet give nothing about himself away.

When did I start noticing? My stomach rumbled again and K was gone back to the kitchen and slamming stuff around in the cupboards to pull something together while humming this amazingly repetitive song.

"Just eat it…eat it…don't you make me repeat it…" I listened to the English for a while before I couldn't stand it anymore.

"If all songs in English are that mundane it's no wonder you came here and agreed to be a manager." I snort and detach myself from a wall. "Can I do anything to help?" He was going to all this trouble, and, I admit it, I felt guilty for causing so many problems for the man in such a short period of time. That was Shuichi's job, not mine.

"Test again, then give yourself your shot." Glancing at the clock, I realized it was indeed time to do both. Have I mentioned I really, really don't like needles? I'm not phobic, but still…

I'm also not insane, and I realized long ago that if a few needles a day are going to not only keep my alive, but feeling good, then it's worth it. They don't hurt as much as most people assume, mostly since the needles most people have to compare are nasty intramuscularly delivered buggers called flu shots and such.

Mine aren't even a centimetre long, and are supposed to be given in fatty areas of the body such as the arms, thighs, stomach, and, erm…buttocks. Mosquito bites literally hurt more, unless I hit a vein or nerve.

Shit, those are painful.

But I'm getting used to it. Drawing the amount I need is easy, they have these machines called pens that all you have to do is twist a dial until it reads the amount you need, stab yourself, and press the same dial you used to measure to inject.

Ichi, ni, san. (one, two, three) Simple as that. Whatever K's making it smells good, so I return to the kitchen.

Good god, he's almost as bad a Shuichi. I say almost cause what he made is actually not only edible, but good. It still takes almost an hour to clean the kitchen though. I think I'll be cooking more from now on. I need to break the silence that lies between the clink of chopsticks on porcelain dishes.

"K-san?" I ask, not looking up.

"Hiroshi-kun?" My name with a slurp of noodles.

"Why are you doing this?"

"What?" 

"Letting me move in, helping me with my…" I still have trouble saying it, it still hurts. "…my illness. Diabetes." I managed to raise my head for the last word, and saw that maniacal grin spread across our manager's face. I could almost recite the English along with him.

"Because…I, am a great manager!" The words came out and the cackle followed, but I only mouthed the words and rolled my eyes. I don't cackle…

That often. And not like K. He's turned it into an art. Now that I've had my shot and something to eat, I'm feeling much better and my headache's gone. I want to go out. It's been a while since I've done anything fun. Leaving the blond in the kitchen, still laughing and stroking his pride, I go to the room that has been dubbed my own and pull out my cell, dialling numbers that I don't even need to think about. It's not the studio issued ones that I'm using, but personal. I let the phone ring on the other end.

And ring.

And ring.

Shuichi's not within hearing distance, apparently, and I am a bit disappointed. It's been a while since we went to throw greasy popcorn at some god awful movie, and I miss that. He's probably busy with that writer. I try the next number, having to look it up since it's been so long since I last used it. Before the tour that started this all, actually. I'm stunned to realize that, until then, I really hadn't given any thought to my supposed relationship to Aya-chan. I get an answering machine.

"Hi you've reached my personal number. If you don't know who this is you can hang up, if you do, you know the drill." The beep sounds and I stumble out a few phrases, call me and the like, before hanging up. This failure somehow isn't as depressing as Shuichi's lack of response. I want to get out still, but don't relish the idea of doing so myself…I'm a star, I should be able to get a date even on a Thursday. Next number.

The tone on the other end tells me that Suguru had let his batteries die, so I try again.

Busy.

Answering machine.

Sorry, can't talk now, have a date to get to.

Busy tonight, how about tomorrow?

Answering machine. 

I consider calling Sakuma-san. He's always getting into some kind of trouble no matter where he is, so life's never dull when he's around.

Answering machine.

God, does everyone have a life but me? This is getting frustrating. I flop onto my futon and curse as my glucose monitor (blood testing machine) jabs me in the back. That's going to bruise, and since my healing abilities had lowered since contracting…my disease… it'll probably take three or four days to heal.

Yuuzi's out at cram school right now, and as much as I'm sure that he'd appreciate being pulled out, my brother needs to study. Arghle.

"Whatcha doing?" I shout and scramble against the wall as K's head appears in my field of vision. 

"Gya! Wha!!" I'm coherent when startled, did you notice? I think my heart has now taken up permanent residence in my throat, where it insists on beating so fast it's almost a hum.

"Bored? Good. Me to. Let's go!" I find myself being dragged along by an over zealous full grown man and wish, not for the last time, that I could know at least _one_ sane person. Just one? Is that too much to ask? Really?

I'm going to dehydrate if this sweat drop gets any bigger.

Next chapter… Hiro gets his sense of mischief back, but at what price? Don't worry, it's not too bad…really…well…okay…it's bad…but not real bad.

Mmm, melty…

Should be up by tomorrow.

Ja!


	6. Nuts!

ARIGATO!!! I haven't said this enough, thank you to all those who review my stuff, special mention to Akari, ChibiFaery AlexaSakurazukamori, Digioverload, Eike, hiro no baka, Ita-chan, Anomay, Valeicia, and everybody else who I didn't include in this list cause it was getting long. 

Surprisingly, or not, K dragged me to a movie. The thing is, since it's dark, no one can recognize you.

At least that's the theory.

Sometimes, I want to melt into the floor and disappear. Like now. I amend that as I look down, not melting into a theatre floor, thank you. Apparently you don't need to wish to become a permanent part of it, all you have to do is fall down and you'll be stuck for life. It took K almost ten minutes to find two seats relatively close together that could be pried apart despite the gum and we settled in sans junk food since we'd had just eaten and I couldn't eat anything but the popcorn anyways.

It was awful, so midway through, K went to the concession stand and purchased some popcorn, chocolate covered almonds, and three packs of gum as well as two jumbo root beer. Straws and napkins included, of course. None of it was consumed, but by the time we left, two more seats had been cemented to their backs and I found myself laughing again. Mostly at the guy in front of us who failed to remove all the spit wads sent his way. The credits were better than the movie, only by virtue of the fact they were playing Break Through. I like to listen to my own music, okay? 

On the way out, the little demon that had been pushed to the deepest part of my psyche made itself known with two litres of still chill root beer soaking into Bad Luck's manager's shirt as it dripped from blond hair. K turned around, and I knew I was dead.

"Um, he did it?" I pointed to the guy standing next to me, only realizing seconds later that it was a poster advertising the shittiest movie to ever exist, which we had just seen.

If they have awards for dumb moves, I think I just became a runner up. K pushed me back through what people hadn't left completely during the actual movie and up towards the front of the theatre where the ground was level, his eyebrow twitching the entire way. It was then I realized that he, too, had the drink and some junk in his possession. I felt my eyes open to their full extent and gasped as the most evil smirk I have ever seen cross K's face was pushed into existence. It was beautiful and horrible at the same time, kinda like a cow giving birth. The next thing I knew I was ice cold and drenched.

K's much bigger than I am, so what dripped from his head utterly soaked me.

And it was COLD. 

I haven't screamed since I was six, but I did then. That smirk hadn't faded and I suddenly found my sopping wet shirt pulled over my head just far enough to completely immobilize me and block my vision.

The remnants of the almonds were placed in my conveniently gaping beltline as I was swung over the American's shoulder, I kicked, rather ineffectively I might add, and felt him start to move.

"Moving out!" K shouted as he opened the door, exposing me, bare backed and helpless to the masses of people moving through the corridors of the theatre.

"Let me go!! K, put me down this instant!" I squirmed, and felt him stop and lower me to the ground.

"Thank you!" I pulled my shirt down just in time to see the first drool drop of a pack of fan girls hit the floor.

"Hi…"

"Oh shit." It's all I can think to say.

"Hir…"

"Shoulda let me carry you…" K whistled, looking innocent. I glared at him.

"I hate you, you know that, right?"

"Hi…" The squealing's getting louder. 

"Your decision." K grins at me, and starts chuckling. I really, really want to kill him, but at the moment, I'm a bit more concerned with preserving my own skin than flaying his.

"HIROSHI!!!!!!"

"RUN!" Still smirking like a moron, K follows as I bolt towards the doors leading directly outside, ignoring the fire alarm that blares in my ears as I push it open and run for dear life. Somehow, I don't picture being torn apart as being a pleasant way to die.

And K's _laughing_ about it.

LAUGHING!

"Just remember…" I gasp, doing my best to glare as we make towards the car. "…that I know where you live."

He just laughs harder an vaults into the convertible keys already in hand. I follow, and we leave rubber on the pavement and get the hell out of there.

"Now, wasn't that fun?" He asks. My mind blanks completely, and then I win the award for the most huge ass sweat drops in one day.

Lucky me.

Damn almonds.

--

After the theatre fiasco I was allowed to go back to the apartment and have a quick shower and change. My hair was so gross from congealing root beer and melted chocolate that, incidently, left more than just my nuts in my nether regions.

Gods, sometimes I wish I wasn't so nice and actually made good on death threats.

I think I'll smother him in his sleep, or possibly invite Shuichi over and stash a shopping bag full of pocky all over the apartment and tell him about it.

On second thought, I still haven't found where he keeps most of his little (or not so little) toys, and blowing up even an overenthusiastic best friend on a sugar high is a bit cruel, even for the mood I'm in right now. Maybe later… I can hear the shower running now, K must be getting rid of the dark brown stains in his hair. 

Just so you know, it was so worth it, just to see the expression on his face. Totally unguarded shock. Priceless Kodak moment there let me tell you. Too bad I didn't have a camera.

I dig around in my mess looking for a brush and eventually just give up. The shower's stopped so I'll just wait a minute to let Mr. Perfect Manager get decent before I ask if I can borrow one of his. I mean, he's gotta have more than one brush, or even a wide toothed comb. His hair is longer than mine and he's a decade older, you'd figure that he takes care of his hair.

At least, the fifty different bottles of shampoo that weren't mine would indicate such, right? 

Another secret about K that he'd kill me if he found out I told anyone, and will probably kill me for writing this, is that he has a definite fetish for fruit scents.

Fruit.

God, I crack me up. K is such a fruit it's not even funny. Hard to believe he's married, actually, let alone has a kid. I still can't get over that. I hope that he's not as insane as papa dear, but I believe that type of thing is genetic as opposed to contracted. At least, I pray it's not contractible, seeing as I'm living with the weirdo, working with the weirdo, eating the food that the weirdo has had a hand in preparing, and letting him physically close to me with sharp, pointy objects.

Kami-sama, I must be insane!

Means I fit right in, go figure.

Steam seeps from the door as K steps out of the washroom, maybe now I can get a brush before my hair dries and becomes a complete rats nest that will…

I guess he forgot he has a house guest. The last thing I can remember thinking before passing out in a dead faint was that K was very, very well built.

'nother chapter in the making, still haven't decided if I'm gonna leave it at that or keep going… tell me whatcha think, it will be taken into consideration. Writing without readers is just a waste of paper after all.


	7. How I remember

Muahahahahahah….I've figured out how I'm going to do this --- more than one story!

That way I can keep the rating for this, and get some K & H action, then return and still have a wholesome pg-13...

For me, I think that's an accomplishment. (Figuring something out on my own) On with the show.

Head - blood = faint. I think I have this figured out now, after all, I just gave a very good demonstration of said mathematical facts now, didn't I.

Whatever I'm lying on now feels nice though, as do the hands running through my hair. The faint skritch of a brush and a scalp massage at the same time…if you've got short hair you'd never understand, or if you've never let anyone just play with the stuff on your head you can't possible realize what it is you're missing. This makes every pain, every hassle with trying to comb it in time for practise or keep it clean worth it.

The thought alone is usually enough to turn me into a pile of mush. Shuichi likes to have his hair stroked or being scratched gently behind the ears, like a puppy almost. I like to have my hair brushed and be petted, like a cat. We're not as different as cats and dogs despite our physical melting points. Our boiling points differ greatly. Shuichi is like water on a mountain, it takes very little heat to get a rise from him. Me, I boil below sea level, you need to really crank the temperature to get bubbles to show. But, if you purify that water, the heat doesn't need to rise as much. My hair is how you can do that. 

And no one touches my hair without my express permission. Even Shuichi took a long time to get close enough to me to fist it and toss it about as he is fond of doing, and he's not here, so whoever is smelling it has some explaining to do. 

I open my eyes just as a gentle hand returns to the back of my head and rubs, and have to close them again and just enjoy the sensation. I think I'm purring, but I'm not aware enough to make that decision. I told you that I melted, and I'm not lying. All thoughts about even caring who it is vanish under the soft roving fingers. Yep, definitely purring.

"Hiroshi-kun wa koneko, ne?" (Hiro's a kitten, right?)

"Mmm." Just keep doing that, and I know I'll agree to anything.

"Supper's ready when you are, cat-boy." The hand disappears and I open my eyes to watch K's back do the same as he makes his way to the kitchen. I am so lucid right now…it's nice. Our manager has just been added to the list of people that can do that anytime he wants. Whatever he made smells good to, and I finally understand how Shuichi can do that floating thing as I do the same. I think my luck is definitely changing from what it's been the past few months.

K's waiting for me with my needle in hand, and even that doesn't spoil the lazy euphoria that I'm in. I've forgotten about everything that happened up to this point today, and find myself actually having a civilized, serious conversation with the blond. It's amazing, really, how much he knows, how much he remembers. Sometimes I forget he has a decade on me in years and a lifetime on me in experience. This is the first time that he's really been relaxed around me, and is slipping out of his K persona and into just being Crawd.

Crawd. God, what a horrible name. His parents must have either been very sadistic, deaf, or going with some sort of bizarre fad. Poor guy. It makes me wonder, after all he's done and been through…

"K-san, are you, happy? Like this?" He looks at me for a second and I can see everything that he hides behind either his sunglasses or his crazy American façade. He lets his fork and knife rest on the plate.

"What makes you ask such a thing as that?"

"I wanted to know…it, it's important to me." And it was. I was living with the guy, had known him for some of the most amazing years of my life, and trusted him. I wanted him to be happy.

"I, I would have to say yes… I am happy."

"Really?"

"Really Hiroshi-kun. What brought this on?"

"I… it's just a thought. Did you think you'd end up like this, when you came here?"

"No. Not at all." He's laughing again, that's good.

"What did you think?"

"About what?"

"About moving to Japan. Becoming our manager. About before that, with Sakuma-san, in America. I…I'd like to know." I have to say I forgot all about how they say curiosity killed the cat. He laughs, but it's more of a bark.

"I suppose you want to know how we met, ne?"

"That's part of it."

"It's none of your business."

"But…"

"Sorry Hiro, some things stay secrets. I can say however, that once I was here again, and yes, I did spend part of my youth in Japan, that I never expected to keep my job as Ryuichi's manager, and was shocked as all hell when I got offered this job to manage Bad Luck."

"K?" Now I'm really curious.

"Here was this group of, kids, really, trying to make their way into the music industry. No experience, no connections, nothing. But they were good. Very good. I paid attention, my interest was seen by one of the sneakiest bastards I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I got to be their boss. The rest is history."

"Do you ever regret it?"

"Sometimes. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have days where I want to take the whole lot of you and dump you off the side of Fuji-yama* to see how many times you'd bounce. But there are other times where it's all worth it. A performance rush, if you will."

"That, I can understand. But you don't even set foot on stage." This was intriguing. I can be nosey at times, I know that, and after years of listening to Shuichi I believe my patience and ability to listen to people is near god-like. I think K needs to talk as much as I want to hear, so this is good, even though our food has been completely forgotten.

"I don't need to. Performances aren't that different from practises for me, they just mean more security work and set up for me to plan. It's when I can nail down a publicity stunt or a stage or set up a release that hits the charts instantly and know that it's a done deal that I get my sense of satisfaction from."

"And that's what makes you happy?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

"Does that matter?"

"Don't you miss your family?"

"At times. Michael's a joy to be around and I love the kid to death, but he's growing up and I'm not there, so I miss out on a lot of things that would make us close. Judy…Judy's too much like me. I love her and all, but, too much time around each other and we both start to freak out. We're both far too explosive to spend quality time, and we both have jobs that don't allow us a lot of interaction. It's nice for the few hours we can manage, but our marriage is more for the paperwork and Michael than anything else, really." K's got this far away look in his eyes that tells me I'm going to need to spur him a bit to keep him going.

"Do you wish you could see them?"

"Yeah. It'd be nice to have a talk with my son, like we are now. Let him realize his Daddy's a real person with a real life and not just some guy who speaks another language and hangs out with people that have bizarre hair. Sometimes…sometimes I even forget what he looks like, or what colour Judy's eyes are. What memories I do have are fading with each year, and those aren't really crucial ones. Michael's going to start school, and I won't be there to see him off or help pack his lunch, but I do remember what it's like to feel him wriggling in my arms. I have mementoes to help, like the pictures he and Ryuichi drew on the airplane to Boston…but I can't tell which is his and which is Ryuichi's. So I keep them both, and hope that I will remember some day."

"K…" He sounds so sad, I need to say something. He looks at me with eyes more serious that I've ever seen him be and smiles. It's nothing more than a lift at the corners of his mouth.

"Sometimes, Hiro, you don't know what you have until it's too far away to touch, sometimes gone forever. Five, ten years from now, you'll be able to remember living here, remember how to get to your room from the front door, but you won't know the colour of the walls or what the carpet felt like under bare feet. It's times like those that you need some thing to trigger the memories and keep them from fading." He stands up and begins to clear the dishes. Neither of us speak until their done and put away and we go our separate ways. Me to practise, he to do whatever it is he does when his door's closed…probably polish his guns, but then again, maybe not.

"Make memories, but try and keep the ones you already have. They're worth more than you'd think. Remember that Hiro." The blond disappears into his room.

I've had good advice and bad advice, I've heard just about everything that can come out of people's mouths, but that night, he really made me think.

It doesn't matter what happens in life, it's how you look and act and react to it that counts. K's taught me that with one little eight minute talk, feeding me physically and giving me something to mentally chew on. I think I understand both him and Sakuma-san a bit better now, and I also realize that I don't understand them at all. It's fascinating and frustrating, but good advice.

Which is why I went out to the store instead of heading to my guitar, and started writing in you, stupid Sanrio diary. 

I want to make memories that will last forever.

Now, whenever I think of the times I spent in K's apartment, I'll just have to picture Hello Kitty and I remember that the walls were beige, and the carpet was matted and slightly abrasive against my toes. It might not seem like something important to anyone else, but this is my life, right now.

And that's what matters.

I close the diary, stretch like the cat K has so recently compared me too, and sigh. It's been an interesting few months, fascinating couple days in this apartment. My week's almost up.

And I don't think I want to leave.

That realization spurs me on, and I leave my room to pad across the slightly scratchy carpet towards his.

K and I need to talk. 

No, that's not right. I need to talk to Crawd.

Steeling myself, I knock on his door.

To be continued in Changing Luck…

Enough of a teaser for you? …please don't kill me… I'm really trying hard here…but it seems that I need to delete two lines for every one that I write.

I now know how Eiri feels sometimes.

Argle.

Pick up with the roommates in Changing Luck… sorry to all those under age readers out there, but it will be NC-17, so this is as far as you get.

* Fuji-yama - mount Fuji. After spending time in Japan, referring to it as mount Fuji seems awkward and I actually find myself saying Fuji-yama instead and then the people I'm talking to look at me funny and I gotta 

give an explanation like this…


End file.
